


i guess i'll know when i get there.

by tousled



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Break Up, F/M, Fluff, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, building a house, past Hiccstrid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-04 05:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21192062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tousled/pseuds/tousled
Summary: It’s Astrid’s eighteenth summer when her mama presses a key into her hand.Astrid fixes a house, tells a boy to fuck off and steps over the threshold.





	i guess i'll know when i get there.

**Author's Note:**

> For [ HTTYD Rare Pair Week 2019](https://httydrarepair.tumblr.com/post/187090694116/httyd-rare-pair-week-2019-is-from-26th-october-to) day 5: key // for once, i was wrong. 
> 
> dot said uncle finn rights! 
> 
> also i literally died writing this bc the stoick/astrid parallels are TOO MUCH.oh my GOD theyre so good i dont know what to do im

i.

It’s Astrid’s eighteenth summer when her mama presses a key into her hand.

The party is small, just everyone who remembered (her mama, Fishlegs because he’s organised like that, and the twins as they have every birthday memorised to never miss out on free food) and she accepts each new knife with a bigger grin. There’s sweet bread and cottage cheese, and even a couple of squishy wild plums Tuff pulled out of his pocket when he presented her with an ornate paring knife. It’s nice, in her mama’s kitchen, the hearth going, with some of her friends and then there’s the _ key _. 

“Mama,” Astrid says, staring down at the key. She knows _ exactly _what it opens. 

“You’re eighteen now,” her Mama says, solemn smile at the edges of her mouth, “all grown up. I think Finn would have loved you to have it.” Her voice stays even until she reaches _ loved _and then she chokes up. Astrid feels it too, a lump in her throat and tears prickling at her eyes. 

“I couldn’t.” Astrid says, but really she could. She _ wants. _

“What’s it open?” Tuff asks, hooking a hand in Astrid’s elbow and pulling her arm towards him. She lets him pick the key out of her palm, looking over it very carefully. 

“It looks like a house key.” Fishlegs surmises. He’s peeking around Ruff, who’s happily buttering some bread. She chokes, mouth stuffed full and turns her sharp gaze to the key in her brother’s hand. 

“I better get a house for _ my _eighteenth.” She mutters, reaching for another slice of bread. 

“Hey!” Tuff shouts, attention back on his sister and Astrid rescues the key before it gets flung across the room. “It’ll be _ my _birthday too!” 

“How many houses do you think our family has?” Ruff shoots back, unimpressed and Tuff scoffs. From what Astrid knows of their family, neither of them are getting houses but it’s definitely an argument that’s going to get hurt feelings. She looks over pleadingly at Fishlegs to get him to intervene. 

Fishlegs, the coward, pointedly looks away as Ruff reaches over to smack Tuff. 

“It was Astrid’s Uncle Finn’s house, once.” Her Mama interrupts. Unfortunately, everyone’s nosy enough that it makes them stop in their tracks. 

“Fearless Finn Hofferson?” Tuff asks, attention now solely on Astrid’s mama as he drops his chin into his hands. Astrid opens her mouth to reprimand before she realises Tuff said it _ right. _If it was Snotlout here he would have said Frozen Finn without blinking an eye, and then there really would have been a fight. 

“Built the house with his own two hands,” her Mama agrees, “but he mostly lived here with us, after Astrid was born. He was so excited to be an uncle.” 

Astrid pushes her chair back, legs scraping along the stone floor. It’s too much, the whiplash of the conversation, of the fondness in her mama’s voice, of sitting in this very kitchen aged four being teased by her Uncle Finn as they ate sweet bread and cottage cheese for her birthday. At least, it’s just the twins and Fishlegs, Astrid doesn’t know how she could have stood so much of herself being given away with the others here too. 

“Thank you all for coming,” Astrid says, “️I really loved the knives.” 

She grips the key tight into the palm of her hand, tight enough she can feel every ridge and bump. The chair knocks over as she steps around Tuff, and she can’t bare to stand there another second so she leaves it, heading up the stairs to her room. She pauses on the landing, voices drifting up to her. 

“Is A alright?” Tuff’s asking, gentle, “did we ruin her birthday?” 

“Some things are just hard.” Her Mama says, careful. Fishlegs makes a noise of agreement and for one moment Astrid thinks _ how would you know? _ But surely, everyone’s lost someone to a dragon. 

“You ruined the moment,” Ruff’s muffled voice sounds like she’s still stuffing her face with bread. Astrid doesn’t want to hear any more, so she takes the final steps to her room and closes the door. 

“Oh gods,” she breathes, opening her fist. The key is still there, indents in her hand. She feels light headed, she feels sick, she feels airy and bubbly and _ too much _. She wants to climb out of the window and unlock the door to Uncle Finn’s house right now and also, she never wants to do that and ruin the memories. 

Carefully, Astrid puts the key down on her desk and goes searching for a spare strip of leather or hemp string. She and Hiccup had been working on a new Nadder saddle design and Astrid had brought the sewing home. Eventually, she finds something useable and cuts it thin, threading the key onto the leather and loops it around her neck, testing the length before tying off. 

The key thumps against her chest, just about her heart and Astrid takes a deep breath. 

  


Five days later Hiccup apologises for missing her birthday. He makes a joke, touching her hand like he wants to hold it and Astrid thinks _ tell him _. 

(She doesn’t.)

Snotlout doesn’t apologise. He gives her a sharpening stone for her knives and axes and “whatever else horrible weapons you’ve got.” And it’s kinder than he’s willing to believe of himself. She kisses him on the cheek, in front of the gang, as a thank you and laughs as he tries to wipe it off. 

“Gross,” Snotlout says. He’s grinning though, but not because of the kiss, because of the joke. 

“You’re gross,” Astrid replies, wiping her mouth exaggeratedly, “are you _ oily _?” 

“It’s exfoliating.” Snotlout replies, tone full of laughter but it’s obviously a mistake because after lunch the twins corner him and lecture him about skin care for the rest of the day. 

Six days later Astrid stands in front of her Uncle Finn’s house for two hours but can’t make herself take her key out from under her tunic. 

On the seventh day she manages to touch the key but that’s it. She repeats the same thing on the eighth, the ninth and the tenth. She takes the key off in the safety of her own room and holds it tight. The door of Uncle Finn’s house is yellow, paint peeling in the corners and Astrid remembers painting it, giggling as Uncle Finn held her up to paint the top. She makes herself walk with the key in her hand to the edge of the village and look at Uncle Finn’s house but can’t make herself put the key in the door. 

“Odin give me strength,” She says. He doesn’t. Odin’s probably laughing at Astrid, _ Fearless Astrid Hofferson, _ bested by a door and some memories. 

Sixteen days later Hiccup asks where Astrid’s going all the time. She hides the key in the desk in her room and dedicates her time to finishing up the Deadly Nadder saddle design. The process is slow, Astrid’s no good at sewing, and at her Mama’s suggestion she gets pointers from Tuff. Hiccup is impressed by the speed of finishing but points out some “error” that was written into Hiccup’s design. 

“Oh for Thor’s sake,” Astrid slams the saddle onto Hiccup’s work desk.

“It’s not that big a deal,” Hiccup says, looking up and reaching out to touch Astrid’s hand. She pulls away before he can. He _ always _thinks nothing is big deal unless it’s his own problem or to do with Toothless. 

“You finish it.” She says, crossing her arms over her chest. The key presses into her breastbone. It is too hot in the forge, 

“I mean, it’ll take awhile. I’m working on some other stuff,” he says and Astrid knows from experience he won’t elaborate. Other stuff could range from the leather apron Snotlout’s being crying about wanting for months to another tail fin for Toothless. It’s most likely the tail fin. There’s already hundreds. 

“Whatever.” Astrid says, slamming the door as she leaves to talk back across town to Uncle Finn’s. 

Astrid still can’t put the key in the lock. 

Twenty five days later and Astrid is no further along. The door is yellow and Astrid needs to reapply the paint but this time Uncle Finn isn’t there to direct her and _ how in Asgard is she supposed to do it without him? _

“You know,” Tuff says, voice to Astrid’s right and she spins around, “it’s probably easier if you bring Stormfly along.” 

“What?” Astrid asks, watching Tuff curling in on himself. It is… odd, and she doesn’t like the uncertainty settling in his shoulders. 

“It’s just, sometimes, when things are hard because they’re full of old memories, it can help if you make new ones.” He suggests, shrugging his shoulders like they are two sizes too small. 

“Would you like to come?” Astrid asks, instead of grilling him about how many times he’s followed her to Uncle Finn’s house to see her struggle with it. If it was Hiccup or Snotlout, she’d call him a creep. His expression betrays only genuine curiosity, so for now she’ll forgive him. 

“Me?” Tuff looks behind himself like he’s checking there’s not someone else there behind him. There isn’t. 

“Of course you,” Astrid says, “meet me here tomorrow at eight in the morning. Wear sturdy boots.” 

“Sturdy boots?” Tuff asks, but Astrid leaves him to it. He can figure out what sturdy boots are needed for himself. It’s an old house. 

Astrid takes the shortcut across town to the lumber yard, picking her way through the market. She stops to buy an apple to snack on, haggling the price when she’s told it’s two bronze coins. Two coins, for an apple? Daylight robbery. She could pick one herself if she went for a walk in the right part of the forest. She could get lumber herself if she goes to the right part of the forest, but in this case she’d trust the expertise for something as important as Uncle Finn’s house. 

Just like Gobber’s anti-dragon weapon production slowed, the lumber yard stalled when their foes became friends. Without dragons burning down their houses every night the need for timber dropped significantly once the sturdy houses were built. It’s only the clumsiness, accidental fires, and the skill shift to coopery that has kept them in business. Weapons are still useful against other enemies, and Gobber is a dentist now, but there was no magical fix for Olav and Gudrun presented by Hiccup. They might make bee hives and trellis for plants now, for mead and wine making. 

“Ah, young Astrid,” Gudrun says the second Astrid opens the door, smiling, “what can we do for you?” 

“I’m fixing a house,” Astrid says, struck by how the feeling of standing in the room reminds her so much of Uncle Finn. Does her family still buy lumber for trading? Has she been avoiding this place? 

“Finn’s?” She asks, shrewd. She looks almost just like Astrid remembers her, a few more wrinkles and a few more grey hairs. Astrid nods. “Of course, and what do you need to fix?” 

“I, uh, don’t know exactly but I’m inspecting tomorrow and I need something to be sturdy to walk across whilst I’m checking.” Astrid flushes, she hadn’t really thought this far. 

“Olav can inspect for you,” Gudrun offers and Astrid flushes again, tapping her hand against the desk. 

“If it’s alright, I’d like to go through the house on my own first.” She says, Gudrun’s eyes soften. “Maybe in a couple of days you and Olav can do a proper inspection.” 

“Of course sweetheart,” Gudrun flips open a ledger and writes a note, “I’ve put that in a diary, four days from now at ten am Olav and our son Magnus will come over to inspect. Be there with the keys.” 

Now it is _ really _ happening. Astrid has four days and an expectant Tuffnut to make her put the key in the lock. She _ can _do it. 

“Now,” Gudrun says, putting the ledger away, “let’s find you some sturdy scaffolding panels.” 

“Thank you,” Astrid smiles and Gudrun’s arm comes up around Astrid’s shoulder like everything’s not exactly the same here and she doesn’t remember where to go. Like she’s still three and in her Uncle Finn’s arms, and Gudrun’s touching his arm flirtatiously. Astrid takes a deep breath, remembering, letting go, and follows Gudrun out into the stockyard. 

  


iii.

It is seventy thirty and Tuff is already waiting as patiently as Thorstonly possible. 

Astrid has been up since six, she took Stormfly for a fly and then a bath and they’ve been slowly hauling the pieces of wide lumber she and Gudrun picked out. She was stalling, carefully placing each piece of lumber atop one another, fiddling with precise corners. It doesn’t matter, be moved again but then she’ll have to go in. 

Tuff showing up, kicking at stone in the dirt with his hands behind his back as Stormfly lands is a complication. He helps with the lumber, but leaves Astrid with the details to scratch at Stormfly’s chin. 

“Ready A?” He asks, and he already knows the answer. 

“I still have several pieces to pick up?” Astrid says, shrugging. Stormfly nudges Tuff’s side until he gives her the chin scratches she wants again. 

“Do you?” Tuff raises his eyebrows but he’s smothered in Stormfly’s attention so it clearly doesn’t come across as he wants. 

“Are you calling me a liar Thorston?” She asks, voice too brittle to be a tease and she can feel the cool press of the key against her breastbone. 

“No, it just sounded like a question.” Tuff says. He looks up and smiles, and the sun comes out. “Let’s go in now anyway, the timber can wait.” 

Astrid reaches for the makeshift necklace, leather strip against her hand and for a moment she can’t do it. She looks up, and Tuff’s smiling with kindness settling around his shoulders in a way Astrid hasn’t seen before. The door to Uncle Finn’s old house is yellow, sun soaked happy memories and Tuff is sun warm and bright. She pulls the leather necklace over her head, holding the key in her hand. 

The paint is brittle where it’s peeling up, crunching under Astrid’s fingers as she presses her hand to the door. Stormfly crowds in to sniff at it, knocking Tuff into her shoulder and she reaches out to steady him, but then ends up gripping his hand as she puts the key in the door. The lock is stiff, and it takes a few moments of jiggling before it clicks properly and then, _ it’s open. _

“Morning Uncle Finn,” Astrid says before she can stop herself, a memory springing unbidden to her mouth and she flushes, pulling away but Tuff squeezes her hand. He doesn’t say anything, and Astrid wants

“Morning Uncle Finn,” Tuff repeats, the words echoing in the mostly empty room and Astrid chokes up. She shuts the door. 

“You can’t be like that.” Astrid says, she demands, she begs, she pleads. She can read his confusion in the curve of his brow and the flutter of his eyelashes and upturn of his mouth. She doesn't know how to explain it, the emotion in her stomach a bubbling mess. Who says that? Who shares the moment with that kind of respect for something silly? 

“Like what?” Tuff asks, and Astrid has a moment of clarity, a stray thought of a fantasy that feels like a memory, feels like it should be déjà vu. Uncle Finn’s house, with Astrid’s touches and Tuff in the doorway like he is now, but Astrid’s hand on his neck and her mouth pressed to his. 

“Like so,” Astrid waves the hand that was holding the key, not ready to let go of his hand, “_ understanding _.” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” Tuff says, perhaps completely innocently, but Astrid bursts into laughter, light as a feather, and pushes the door open again. 

It is exactly as she remembers it, and yet not like Uncle Finn’s house at all. When Uncle Finn had been alive, the room had been too, but now it’s just dust covered and cobweb full. Stormfly makes a clicking noise, trying to get further in to scent the room and knocks Astrid one step into the room. She stills, holding her breath and she can feel the tension in Tuff’s arm as he readies himself to pull her back. The floor creaks, and for a split second Astrid thinks she might go through it, but it holds. 

“Oh thank Thor,” Astrid breathes, cautioning both Tuff and Stormfly with one hand. Carefully, she steps back. As much as she doesn’t want to let go of his hand, she’s filled with the desire to explore and reminisce about all the things she’s been scared about and there’s work to do. “Tuff, let’s haul one of those pieces of lumber over to lay over the boards - there’s a solid stone floor in the doorway to the kitchen.” 

It takes them an hour to maneuver the flat lumber into position in the cramped space of the doorway, but the satisfying thump of timber against stone is worth it. Stormfly hadn't been helping, sticking her nose into everything and watching everything with clever eyes and distracting Tuff. Astrid hasn’t heard him work so long without complaining and she brushes her hand over his shoulder in thanks. He gets it, like he got saying hello to Uncle Finn and she loves him for it, loathes the feeling too. 

“Hi Uncle Finn,” She says, emboldened, “I hope you don’t mind us barging in.” She steps onto the piece of lumber and it holds, the floor beneath creaking as Tuff joins her balancing on the wood. Stormfly pushes most of her bulk into the doorway but doesn’t join them any further. 

“Hiya,” Tuff says, nudging Astrid to take a few more steps in. Astrid surveys the room, looking across old furniture and the fireplace, throat thick with memories and dust. “It’s very nice to see you again Mr. Finn.” 

“What?” Astrid says, sharp, but Tuff is looking at the bundle of chairs by the fireplace, looking right at Uncle Finn’s chair. “_ Again _?” 

“I wanted to see what house you got for your birthday, but then I remembered where it was.” Tuff says, a shrug half formed on his shoulders. He looks back over at Astrid, apologetic. “So I asked Mum about and she said your mama and Uncle Finn used to babysit us all the time too. We were babies though, so I don’t really remember much.” 

“Oh,” Astrid says. She doesn’t know what else to add. There’s hazy memories of younger kids, but they didn’t make sense so she had dismissed them. She’s the only child of a single mother, maybe the want for a younger sibling to play with had manifested so greatly she’d pretended there was babies too. Sometimes, she forgets the twins are younger, that they used to look at her like a pinnacle of wisdom as a child. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

Tuff turns pink and coughs, looking away and back at the fireplace. Astrid looks over too and really, the house looks _ sturdy _. And she squats down to test the closest piece timber with half her weight and it holds. There’s a piece two arms lengths away that’s definitely rotten, and probably the one next to it but all in all not as terrifying a job as she though. 

She stands back up and continues her path towards the wide doorway for the kitchen. She can see stone floors and a sagging bench and lots of leaves and twigs. She steps off the lumber, Tuff a minute later, but this room looks a lot sadder. There’s a lot of debris, broken pots and water damage and upon closer inspection. There’s a sizeable hole in the roof, charred edges like dragon fire. 

“Oh wow,” Tuff says, and for a second Astrid thinks he’s going to make a comment about how lucky they were that the house is still standing, that it wasn’t burnt down but he goes scurrying over to the corner. “Look at this big centipede!” 

“Tuff, don’t pick it up!” Astrid snaps, voice tight as she rushes over to stop him. For a moment she thinks she’s too slow, Tuff’s hand curled as he brings it up but she skids into the spot and his hand is empty, centipede scurrying away. 

“You scared it away,” Tuff says, morose, “I was going to name it.” 

“It would have bitten you,” Astrid replies, punching him in the shoulder, “that’s for scaring me.” 

“What’s the point of a house if you don’t get free pets from the dusty corners?” Tuff asks, rubbing his arm and Astrid wants to be mad but she just feels overwhelmingly fond. Who else would think house spiders and centipedes were free pets? Who else could she even spend this moment with? 

“A roof.” Astrid says. She can’t help but smile when he gives her a look that says it’s not enough, what’s the point without some poor terrorised harvestman in a jar? 

“Sounds kind of boring.” He says, crossing his arms across his chest. Even with all the put upon seriousness the corner of his mouth is curved upwards and it makes him look charming and mischievous. 

“Maybe,” Astrid turns her attention back to the kitchen itself, “but I guess I’m just a boring person.” 

“No one thinks that.” Tuff says, too fast, too serious. Astrid looks up and he’s so open and earnest that she can’t look at him for too long, like maybe he is the sun itself. The broken kitchen table in front of them used to be where Astrid and Uncle Finn made sweet pie for her Mama’s birthday in secret. 

“Thanks,” Astrid says, oddly touched, “but that’s just not true.” She’s not even that bothered by, Hiccup even said it - _ you always knew who you where _ \- and well, Astrid is practicality and precision and training to be good and _ boring _. 

“Well, _ I _ don’t think that.” Tuff replies, hands now on his hips. “So there.” 

Astrid wants to punch him again, the feeling rattling around in her rib change so strong she doesn’t know what else to do with it. He’s too much, too earnest, too genuine, too much of a chatterbox. Astrid feels like she’d rescue him from a hundred, a million, centipedes if she could. 

“Well,” Astrid says, “I don’t think you’re boring either.” And it feels kind of dumb as it tumbles out of her mouth, but Tuff lights up. 

“Thanks!” He grins. He points at a pile of timber that might have been a bench once. “What’s that?” 

They spend the rest of the day exploring and creating a sturdy pathway of the large pieces of lumber. Tuff tests out the staircase before Astrid can grab him by the collar and he scrapes his leg on a couple of rotten stairs snapping under his weight. Still, miraculously most of it’s fine and Astrid follows him up to the bedrooms and the balcony, feeling the ghost of memories dragging her where Tuff doesn’t. 

The next day, Tuff is waiting outside the door to Uncle Finn’s house at seven thirty again, chatting with Olav who’s carrying a pile of tools. Astrid lets them in, and once instructed how to, starts tapping to explore what pieces of wood are sturdy or not. She marks them off with charcoal, and Tuff holds one end of a measuring stick for Olav when they find rotten panels. 

They do it again the next day, and the next. Olav takes a day to emergency fix a broken fishing boat, and Tuff stands in every room of the house and asks Astrid stories about every aspect of it. What’s this, what’s that, do you have a story about that knot in the wood? There’s story upon story in every piece of wood, but not for every grain - Astrid was five at most - but she makes some up anyway. New stories, new memories. 

“This was one well made house for the era,” Olav comments on the eighth day, wiping sweat off his forehead. “We don’t even make anything this sturdy now, what with accidental dragon damage still a thing.” 

“It’s a gift,” Tuff says, “of course it’s well made. You think Uncle Finn would give Astrid a poorly made house?” 

“Of course not,” Olav laughs, the echo booming and he slaps Tuff on the shoulder. Astrid wants to laugh too, Tuff adamant expression is cute, but she feels choked up again. The idea that Uncle Finn had always meant to give this to her, to share it with her, it’s too much. 

If Olav wasn’t here, Tuff wouldn’t have said that, but if Olav wasn’t here nothing would have stopped Astrid from kissing Tuff. 

“I think we’re just about done,” Olav adds a moment later, “I’ve got the timber needed written down, I’ll have to check Gudrun’s lodger but we probably don’t have everything needed. I’ll get to fell a couple of trees for some of those longer pieces.” 

“Thanks Olav.” Astrid replies, reaching out to take his outstretched hand. “First half of the payment up front?” 

“As always.” He agrees. “Once I’m done here, I’ll work it out with Gudrun - you and your boy, take the rest of the day off.” 

“Her boy?” Tuff asks, Astrid knocks her shoulder into his and smiles up at Olav awkward, brittle. 

“Alright,” She says, “thanks again.” She takes Tuff’s arm and pulls him out, away. She does not miss Olav’s wink and feels like maybe she’s as red as an apple at it.

“Your boy?” Tuff repeats, looking at Astrid funny. He doesn’t step away from where her hand is gripping at his bicep and he realises she’s still holding onto him the same time as she does. She pulls her hand away. 

“It’s probably a joke.” Astrid says. She feels stupid, and embarrassed and apparently is completely _ obvious. _

“Oh.” Tuff says. “Well, I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Oh.” Astrid replies. Her insides feel like a bunch of squirming eels. 

“Isn’t Hiccup your boy though?” 

“No.” Astrid says before she even realises what Tuff means. Hiccup isn’t hers, never has been. He’s too flighty, too lost up in the clouds; if anything he belongs to the air, to the wind, to the freedom of riding a dragon. And even if he wasn’t, they are like crossed wires. No, Hiccup is not hers, never will be, and Astrid doesn’t even want him to be. 

“Oh.” Tuff goes pink, all the way up his ears. “Aren’t you dating?” 

“I don’t know.” Astrid says. 

Hiccup hasn’t checked in on her since she dumped the saddle stitching he deemed wrong on him and it’s been days, weeks. Hiccup didn’t come to her birthday party, even if only for free food. 

Hiccup hasn’t asked once about Uncle Finn. 

  
  
iv.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Hiccup asks, voice high pitched and it echoes off the Great Hall’s walls. Astrid really didn’t want this to happen here. Still, Hiccup wouldn’t stop touching her thigh even though she moved his hand away several times. 

“I mean, yes.” Astrid says. She wants to argue the point, two dates doesn’t mean they’re _ together, _no matter how many times he tries to hold her hand when she’s uncomfortable. But it doesn’t matter, clearly Hiccup thought there was something more. 

“Why?” Hiccup whines. 

Astrid has a lot of things she could say. _ You think we’re a couple _ , or _ you dump all your problems on me and never listen to what I have to say, _ or _ you forgot my birthday. _ She has a lot of mean things she could say. _ You chew too loud _ and _ you always stink like fish _ and _ your mistakes are your own stop blaming everyone else _ and _ your hands are sweaty and holding them is gross _ . _ For once, I was wrong, you weren’t ever going love me like you said you did. _BInstead, she says “I don’t think we’re compatible.” 

The entire Great Hall is silent. Astrid wants to be buried in the sand and left for the crabs to pick at. She wishes the dragons weren’t outside having their own feast of fish, an ill timed squabble would really be useful right now.

“Oh.” Hiccup says. He might hyperventilate any second now. “I don’t think that.” 

“Do you not see the irony in that?” Snotlout demands, slamming his fork down on the table next to his bowl of mutton. 

“How do you know what the word _ irony _means?” Fishlegs asks, looking at Snotlout with confusion and the sort of dawning horror that Astrid recognises. She’ll make fun of him when he comes to her about it later. 

“Why wouldn’t I know what irony is?” Snotlout shoots back. If he was standing he’d have his hand on his hip. “I have to deal with Hiccup and the twins, don’t I?” 

Three different voices call out “Hey!” and the moment dissolves back to petty bickering and the general murmur of vikings feasting. Fishlegs is picking at his food, much like Astrid is now, the both of them stuck between the wild arms and expressions and exaggerated exclamations. 

Astrid pushes her seat back. She’s careful not to cause a grating sound, one more terrible noise and the migraine that’s sitting behind her eyes will burst into life. “I’ve had enough,” she says, Fishlegs looking like he wants to agree, and drops her fork. They don’t have their audience anymore, so Astrid takes the front doors to get out of the building instead of slipping out the side.

It’s not Hiccup that follows her, not even Fishlegs with a different worry in his stomach, it’s Stoick. She can tell by the footfall, and contemplates darting off into the village so she doesn’t have to deal with the father of the boy whose heart she apparently just broke. 

“You alright Astrid?” His tone is kind and Astrid doesn’t get it. Did he miss it? Was Gobber still talking when Hiccup made a scene? Can Gobber be quiet enough to not make a scene? 

“We weren’t together.” Astrid says, holding her ground but she doesn’t turn around. “He took me on an island scouting mission once and then called it a date afterwards. It was _ work _. And he spent most of the time with Toothless.” 

“Hey,” Stoick says, putting a hand on Astrid’s shoulder and for one angry, scared moment Astrid wants to shake him off. She wants to tell _ you’re not my dad! You’re not my uncle, either. _But he tugs her into a side hug that’s nothing at all like Uncle Finn’s and the anger drained out of her. 

“I used to tell him stories of his mother all the time, you know,” Stoick says, and she looks up at him, letting herself be brought into his board shoulder, “and I think he’s obsessed with that idea of love. To him, it was a fairytale, a first love, a romance for the ages. He reminds me so much of her, and sometimes he’s so stubborn, so much like me.” 

“Do you miss her?” Astrid asks. It’s a stupid question, Astrid feels the ache of missing Uncle Finn like a lost limb, it must be worse. 

“Every day.” Stoick says. He squeezes Astrid tight for a moment and then lets her go. “Don’t let Hiccup walk over you when he’s not looking, he’s a good boy you know.”

“I know he doesn’t mean it,” Astrid says, surprising herself, “he always, always means well. How can you hurt someone who’s just trying to do their best for you even if they don’t ask?”

“The asking is one of the most important bits Astrid,” Stoick says, “he will learn it, one way or another. Probably the hard way, and I’m sure you will learn your own lessons too. You already are.” 

“Does it get easier?” Astrid asks, and she doesn’t know if she means saying no, making Hiccup ask, or if she means missing a loved one. Maybe both, maybe neither. 

“Oh Gods no,” Stoick laughs, big and booming. He pats Astrid on the shoulder. “Hiccup is like a terrible terror on the trail of a fish it can steal; relentless and eager.” 

“A terrible terror,” Astrid snorts, and then looks up at Stoick’s grinning face. 

“Have a good night Astrid.” Stoick says, turning around and watches him walk back to the dinner feast until the Great Hall door shuts behind him. 

“Have a good night Stoick.” She repeats, to the space where Stoick was. She lifts a hand to her mouth and whistles for Stormfly. She _ does _have a good night. 

They go for a late night flight, sky and sea around them glittering black. It feels like a void, that if Astrid shouted and screamed until her voice was hoarse no one would hear her. Stormfly flies up until the air feels thin and Astrid lets out the yell that’s been building up inside, fists clenched and head thrown back. When she’s done terrifying a couple of wild monstrous nightmares Stormfly flies at breakneck speed, any words stolen away on the night air. 

The next day she takes a break from the house, from the responsibility, and joins Fishlegs on a herb collecting mission. Three islands over there’s comfrey and hyssop, and another something else Gothi demanded she needed after someone (Snotlout) accidentally burn her dried collection up. 

“Snotlout knows what _ irony _ is.” He says, once they’re safe in the open air soaring. 

“Yeah,” Astrid laughs, remembering Snotlout’s disgusted expression at the conversation. Three days ago, when she’d had the “your boy” conversation with Tuff, her insides knitted themselves up and finally now, on the back of Stormfly she feels _ free _. 

“Why is that appealing?” Fishlegs asks and Astrid’s laughter has only just died down as she splutters into an unbecoming cackle. 

“I thought you liked Ruff,” she says, when she catches her breath. 

“Doesn’t everyone like Ruff a little bit though?” Fishlegs mutters sourly. Astrid’s about to reply when Fishlegs clears his throat, “actually you missed out on the tongue thrashing of a life time.” 

“What?” Astrid laughs again. She feels like maybe she can’t stop now she’s started. 

“Ruff,” Fishlegs says, “she just went absolutely ape shit about the way Hiccup was acting regarding you. She dragged his ass back and forth across the Great Hall like maybe five times.” 

“You’re such a gossip,” Astrid says. She doesn’t know how to respond to that, she wasn’t even aware Ruff even liked her enough to defend her. She had the distinct impression Ruff _ didn’t _like her.

“Is Hiccup that bad?” Fishlegs asks and Astrid doesn’t know what to say. 

“He just, ...assumes.” Astrid looks down at her hands against Stormfly’s neck. The saddle is still the old one, the one she was designing wasn’t good enough according to Hiccup. “He doesn’t ask, and he wonders why you’re not happy with what he’s already decided without consulting you.” 

They’re both quiet for several long moments, and Astrid looks up to Fishlegs’s thoughtful expression. It’s ruined moments later by Meatlug’s excitement of Astrid paying attention in her general direction. Astrid reaches out to pat at Meatlug, stroking her head to claim her down as Fishlegs steadies then both. 

“He does do that.” Fishlegs says, eventually. 

“Tell Ruff I appreciate her saying something.” Astrid says, not interested in talking about it anymore. 

“Why don’t you tell her yourself?” Fishlegs asks. 

“I don’t think she’ll take it from me,” Astrid shrugs. She’s already thinking about something else discrete she can do to say thank you. 

It takes four days of travelling and exploring and mucking around that Astrid enjoys down to her bones. Laughing with Fishlegs around a fire makes her ask herself why she doesn’t do this more. Days working alongside Tuff in her house, days picking lavender and meadowsweet with Fishlegs, are the ones she enjoys most. Next up, Snotlout is being bullied into a three day fishing trip or something. 

“So, you and Tuff?” Fishlegs asks just before Berk comes into view again and Astrid is so shocked, and yet completely unshocked she’s startled into more laughter. 

“Gossip.” She accuses again. “But, watch this space, okay.” 

“Ooh.” Fishlegs says, giving her a look she can’t comprehend. Whatever it is, it hardly matters, the idea of _ watch this space _ makes her feel giddy and ridiculous and happy. Today they’re landing home and clearing out their saddlebags and having a good night’s rest and tomorrow she’s going to slot more panels into Uncle Finn’s house and call it _ hers. _Like Uncle Finn wanted. 

  
  
v.

It is seventy thirty and Tuff is waiting with the key and two cups of fish broth. Putting it into his open hand five days ago had been easy, and Tuff had stared at it like it was an expensive jewel. Astrid takes the key and the fish broth, and smiles back at Tuff’s sunrise of a grin. 

“Ruff doesn’t hate you, you know.” He says. 

“I didn’t,” Astrid says, “but I’m glad she doesn’t.” 

“She only accepts your thanks and deeply held gratitude if you spill absolutely all the juicy details possible.” He adds, falling into step with her just as they reach the front door of Uncle Finn’s - Astrid’s house. The front door has been sanded back so there’s no more peeling paint, but Astrid misses the yellow. 

“Does she?” Astrid asks, putting the key into the door and unlocking it with an ease she never thought was ever going to be possible. _ Good morning Uncle Finn. _“Well, we’ll have to organise something. Maybe a girl’s trip - we can invite Heather too.” 

The door swings open and Astrid is gobsmacked.

It was five days, but it was also _ only _five days but the timber of the house is mostly fixed, lumber pathways pulled out of the way. Some of it’s already chopped up beside the fireplace and the rest out of sight. Astrid hovers, foot lifted to step over the last missing piece of timber right by the doorway but she almost can’t make herself take the next step. 

“Good mornin’ Uncle Finn,” Tuff calls to the air, and Astrid wants to shake him, wants to demand just who exactly does he think he is. She’s a little scared of the answer. She knows what the true one is. 

“You and Olav must have worked through the _ night _ .” Astrid says, awed, and Tuff shrugs like it was nothing. “Through the _ nights _ \- what are you doing with yourself?” 

“We saved you the most important piece.” Tuff says, stepping over the gap and he gestures at the wall so Astrid joins him to see a salvaged piece of the old wooden chair that used to sit in front of the fire. It had been too rotten to be saved, but now she’s holding the memory of Uncle Finn holding her tight as a storm rattled the windows and the ocean. Her protector, promising the Hofferson trading boats would be okay, that her Mama would be okay. Now, every time Astrid steps into her house, Uncle Finn is there at the threshold, protecting her. 

“Oh,” Astrid says, unsure how to express her thanks. There’s a million words bubbling up inside her, half a dozen actions and she doesn’t know the best way to start them. 

“And Snotlout found an ochre deposit, so after some serious experimenting we managed to get a pretty close yellow to the original door colour.” Tuff continues, unbothered by Astrid’s silence, or perhaps, understanding of it. “It’s this lovely, mead-y kind of colour. It’s not completely right but hopefully it’s good enough” 

“Sun warm, and apple blossom honey.” She says. The colour might be different, but it’s probably right for now, a new yellow for Astrid but the memories still engrained. 

“What’s apple blossom honey like?” Tuff asks, and Astrids thinks _ it’s probably not as sweet as your mouth. _

“Like a warm summer day amongst the wildflowers.” Astrid says. “Tomorrow, let’s go on a picnic, or a walk, or an early morning flight. I think my Mama still has a jar of apple blossom honey and we can steal a loaf of bread or too.” 

“Like a date?” Tuff breathes. He is as pink as an arctic bramble flower and twice as lovely. 

“Yeah,” Astrid says, “like a date.” 

They spend a moment, two, or even three, just looking at each other until they can barely stand it. Tuff looks away first, pinker every second and hands her the salvaged chair piece. Astrid lets herself admire it for a moment, thinking maybe she remembers it as part of an arm, or maybe she’s making that up. She steps back out of the house so she can finish it and then step over the threshold, christening it properly. 

“I’d really like that.” Tuff whispers, quiet enough to scare a mouse. 

“You’re in charge of stealing the bread.” Astrid replies, smiling up at him as she takes the hammer too, kneeling in front of the hole in the floorboards so she can position the final piece in place. 

“I’m gonna steal it from Snotlout’s house.” Tuff says, grinning. Astrid knows he knows that the bread made at the Jorgenson’s goes to the Haddock house. Astrid grins back. 

The timber slides perfectly into place, dropping with a click. There’s already nails put into place and Tuff hands over the hammer. Astrid takes a moment, just to breathe, and then hammers the nails in. She looks up, handing the hammer back over and then hesitates before stepping over the threshold. It barely feels real. Astrid turns to the bowl of paint, not ready to speak. If she has to vocalise the moment, the feeling of ownership, of Uncle Finn’s presence she’ll probably cry. 

The paint is almost the same colour as Astrid remembers, but more yellow ochre than lemon yellow, warmer. Tuff puts the hammer away in a tool box Astrid doesn’t remember and then pulls out a couple of ox hair brushes. Astrid takes one and the bowl of paint and falls into the rhythm of brushing it onto the door alongside Tuff. 

It takes half an hour of careful brushing, of getting bristles in all the cracks and even paint control. Astrid gets paint on her hands and on her tunic, and laughs because Tuff gets it absolutely everywhere too. He looks up, grinning as he finishes up the last slat. 

“There we are.” Tuff says, paint on his forehead and his arms, smiling like the sun as Astrid coats the last slat of timber with sun yellow paint. “Finished.” 

“Not yet,” Astrid says and at Tuff’s quizzical look she drops the brush, ignoring where it falls and steps into his space. It is Uncle Finn’s house, with Astrid’s touches and Tuff is in the doorway with Astrid’s hand on his neck and her mouth on his. 

It is déjà vu.


End file.
